Sir Percy and his lady
by Regina-sp
Summary: This fanfiction is based on The Scarlet Pimpernel. Set after Percy and Marguerite return from Calais, and they are aboard the “Daydream”. Marguerite falls ill and Percy nurses her back to health as he fights his feelings of longing for the woman he loves
1. Marguerite becomes ill

Sir Percy and his Lady

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from this story. It is purely a fanfiction written because Baroness Orczy wrote such wonderful books and I fell in love with the characters. This fanfiction is set after Percy and Marguerite return from Calais, and they are aboard the "Daydream". Marguerite falls ill and Percy nurses her back to health as he fights his feelings of longing for the woman he loves and the guilt for what he has put her through. Will they ever finally be able to come together as man and wife?

Written by: Gina

A loud knock on the door startled Sir Percy from his slumber. He started to rise from his chair, suddenly wincing as he did; he'd nearly forgotten how sore his shoulders were from the beating those brutes had given him.

After leaving Marguerite in the arms of her brother he had quickly stolen away to his cabin to bathe and change out of those hideous clothes he had worn as the Jew. He was used to wearing disguises, but always felt his best in his own wonderfully stylish clothes. After tying his cravat, he slowly sank into his favorite chair, sighing aloud. Try as he might, he could not stop thinking about Marguerite and all she had suffered in the last few hours on his behalf. He must have dosed off for a few moments.

"Odds life! Those brutes did hit me hard." muttered Percy rubbing his shoulder. Again there was a loud pounding on his door, followed by the anxious voice of Sir Andrew Ffoulkes.

"Percy, Percy! Are you in there?" Hearing the worry in his friend's voice, he wasted no more time opening the door. One look at Andrew's face told him it was serious, and although their chief was not a man who usually reacted to a troublesome situation, he suddenly felt as if something were terribly wrong. "Ffoulkes, what is it?" He felt as if he could hardly get the question out.

"It's Marguerite!" Sir Andrew gasped. "She had told Armand that she needed some air, she was feeling rather hot." The words were rushing past his lips. "She suddenly swayed and fainted into poor Armand's arms. Her fever must be dreadfully high, Percy!"

Without stopping to reply, Percy rushed past his most faithful friend and up the steps

to the room where Armand sat with an unconscious Marguerite lying in his arms, her head gently nestled against her brother's chest.

Percy sank to his knees as he reached his beloved. He watched the heartsick boy gently rocking his sister back and forth, as a mother would for her child. Completely absorbed with the precious life in his arms, Armand had not yet realized that his chief was near him. Tears gathered in his eyes as he kissed his sister's forehead and softly whispered loving words into her ear. "Little mother. You must wake up. Please, please wake up!"

It was then that he noticed his chief for the first time. Something deep down inside made Armand want to lash out at this man who had become like a brother to him. At times, he had even felt that Percy was like the father he never knew, having been so young when his and Marguerite's parents had died.

"This is your doing, Blakeney! If she doesn't recover, this will be on your head!" He knew this really wasn't Percy's fault, if anything, he idolized this man. The chief had saved so many lives, even his own he owed to him. All he could think about however was how unhappy Marguerite had been this past year, even though she had tried to hide it. Armand knew his sister too well to be fooled. When he questioned Percy about it and the chief told him about the deaths of the Marquis de St. Cyr and his family and how he couldn't risk trusting Marguerite, the reason had become painfully clear to Armand. Now it was different though, Marguerite might die and Percy didn't even care!

The English gentleman said not one word but quietly looked long and hard into the eyes of his young brother in law, showing every bit of his emotion in that one look, silently requesting permission to take Marguerite into his arms. The young lad imperceptibly nodded his head, and handed over the one they both loved most into the arms of his chief.

Percy gathered his precious burden once more into his arms and left to carry her down to his cabin. All this time Sir Andrew had been standing in the doorway silently watching this exchange between his chief and the young boy. As Armand's face fell into his hands weeping, Sir Andrew quietly walked up and placed a hand on the lad's shoulder.

"The chief will take good care of her, he loves her!" Sir Andrew had meant to comfort Armand but instead those words seemed to upset him further.

"What does he know about love? He saves innocents day after day, but he doesn't know how to love his own wife!" He looked up at Sir Andrew with eyes full of anguish.

Sir Percy Blakney carried his unconscious wife into his cabin, shutting the door behind him with his foot. He gently laid her on his bed and lovingly cupped her cheek in his hand. "Oh, my Margot. What have I done?" He couldn't blame Armand for what he had said. The lad was no angrier at him than he was with himself. "If it weren't for me, you would not be suffering so, my love." Picking up her fevered hand, he softly kissed it as he finally allowed his own tears to fall.

Then pulling himself together, he went about the task of finding the injury that was causing his precious wife to fight for her life. The English gentleman was no doctor, but he had nursed many people back to health from injuries and illnesses due to being subjected to the French prisons and sometimes his own comrades a time or two.

He started with the torn stockings and gently rolled them down her legs. He gasped as he saw the infected cut on her leg. There were more cuts and bruises on her other leg and on both of her feet, but none of them quite like this one he had found. It was such an angry cut, red and swollen. He always kept a few bottles of medicine on hand in case there was a need for them, so he quickly retrieved the bottle of carbolic acid to clean her wound. As he wrapped her leg with a clean bandage he couldn't help but notice how beautiful and shapely her legs were. Percy quickly scolded himself for letting such thoughts cross his mind at a time like this, but she was beautiful, more beautiful than he had ever imagined and he longed to touch her and be with her. He turned his attention to her feet and quickly cleaned and bandaged them as well.

Then he knew he had to do something to bring her fever down. By this time she had suddenly begun to toss and turn, she was steeped in perspiration, her beautiful auburn hair matted to her forehead. It was then he realized he'd have to remove her dress in order to sponge her off and hopefully bring her fever down.

To Be Continued………


	2. Percy's Vigil

I just wanted to say thanks to everyone who has given me feedback! With 3 kids, 2 of them being babies, it's difficult to have any extra time, but as long as people let me know they are interested, I will find the time and keep writing. I love to write stories with lots of twists and turns.

Percy's Vigil

Almost as if Sir Percy were in a trance like state, he gently lifted his wife enough so that her beautiful face and torso rested against his chest. He lowered his own face close to hers tenderly kissing her cheek. He couldn't help but breathe in the lingering scent of her perfume. How wonderful and right this felt to be holding her in his arms. He had been longing for this for so long, if only Marguerite would be alright. He had so much to atone for, so many things he needed to say to her. He would gladly trade places with her if it meant she could be well. He loved this woman with every fiber of his being. Taking a deep weary breath, he moved her long glorious hair to one side and began to fumble with the many buttons that went down the back of her intricately designed dress.

Marguerite seemed to remain calm and in a deep sleep while Percy clumsily tried to unfasten all of the tiny little pearl buttons. She was so hot to the touch and Percy worried whether she would make it or not. He had seen this before, even the strongest of people, once a wound had become this infected it spread to the bloodstream causing the high fevers. He just hoped she would be strong enough to survive. He could only imagine that she had probably not eaten or slept well before she started on this dreary some trip to save him. Then with what she had gone through on the beach with Chauvelin and his brutes, it was no wonder she was having a hard time fighting this demmed infection.

The English gentlemen ever so gently laid her back on the pillows and began to push the sleeves down those long slender arms. He removed everything save her shift and petticoats. Percy had taken in a sharp breath when the dress came off and he realized he would have to remove her stay in order for her to breathe easier. She was so beautiful to him, the stay causing her breasts to swell slightly and peek out through the top made him feel dizzy and a little giddy at the same time. He closed his eyes a moment and took another deep breath forcing himself to concentrate on the task at hand. He carefully turned her over and wondered how he would ever get her out of this deemed contraption; soon after he managed to rid her of the stay and reverently brought the sheet up to cover her waist. Grabbing a fresh pitcher of cool water, he quickly poured it into the bowl. Picking up a cloth, Percy began his administrations, tenderly placing the wet cloth on Marguerite's face and neck. When he was finished, he lifted Marguerite's hand to the side of his face, cupping it around his cheek and leaning into its softness.

"Sweetheart, please!" He pleaded in an anguished whisper. "You must wake up! You must fight this fever! You have to be well! I cannot live without you, my Margot!"

He continued to say these words over and over again hoping against all hope that somehow Marguerite would hear him, for she was his very life. He only stopped to replace the now warm washcloth with a fresh cool one. He tenderly mopped her brow and continued to run the cloth over her face, neck, and upper chest. He gently brushed back the loose tendrils of her hair before placing the new washcloth on her forehead, then he resumed placing her hand between both of his.

"Dear God." Percy hoarsely whispered. "Please just give me the chance to show this woman how much I truly love her. I swear I will never again take her love for granted. If you must take a life, then please, take mine." Then he laid his head on her breast and closed his eyes. At that moment he felt a movement and his head suddenly snapped up. Marguerite moaned softly and for the briefest of moments her hand flexed against his.

"Margot?" He beckoned "Margot, my love?" He gently squeezed her hand. "I am here, Sweetheart! You will get well. Can you hear me? I will not let you die!" He vowed.

Some moments later Marguerite began tossing and turning, but she didn't open her eyes. "Percy, Percy!" She cried.

"I am here, my love! I am here!" He breathed, staring into her face as if he were willing her to wake up. She continued to toss and turn and cry out for him. Guilt seized Percy's heart like a dagger. He continued to whisper loving words into her ear all the while smoothing her hair back in an effort to soothe her. When once again she was calm, he reached for a glass of water. He lifted her head, allowing it to fall back a little and carefully poured a little water into her mouth. He made sure she swallowed even though it was obvious that she wasn't cognizant of her actions. Finally the glass was empty so he placed it back on the bedside table and laid her back down on the pillows. He then resumed his former position with his head on her breast.

A soft knock on the door stirred Percy from his watchful vigil by his wife's side. Reluctantly, he rose to answer it.

"Percy. How is she?" Sir Andrew inquired anxiously. At that moment Marguerite began crying out in her sleep again and thrashing about. Percy rushed back to his wife's side and pulled her into his arms. Sir Andrew hesitated in the doorway not sure whether or not he should just leave. He watched the scene before him play out, he had never expected to see this.

"What is wrong with her?" Sir Andrew stammered out. Percy had almost forgotten he was there.

"I think it must be the fever causing her to have some sort of dream or something." Percy answered not even turning around. "Come in Ffoulkes, and close the door." He beckoned.

Sir Andrew quickly made his way to the other side of Marguerite's bed and helped his friend to hold on to her. She was almost fighting Percy trying to break free. He felt awful for both of his dear friends. Percy kept trying to speak to his wife and calm her with soothing words. Pretty soon she quieted, but softly continued to cry in her sleep. Sir Andrew nearly felt like an intruder watching this scene take place.

When Percy felt like she was calm enough to relax his hold on Marguerite he asked Sir Andrew to pull up a chair, while he set at the head of his bed with his wife still held closely in his arms.

"How is poor Armand doing?" Percy asked what was really on his mind. He couldn't get the boy's words out of his mind.

"He is very worried about his sister, but he is alright, Percy. Everyone is worried about her." Sir Andrew noticed the shadow that seemed to cast on his friend's face.

"He's right, Ffoulkes. This is all my doing, if I had only trusted her." He whispered more to himself.

"You did what you thought was best, Percy. You could not take such a risk at the time. It's not like you to second guess yourself." Sir Andrew had never seen his chief this way before.

"I cannot loose her, Ffoulkes." He replied barely above a whisper. He tightened his grip around Marguerite and ran his hand through her long curls. The Scarlet Pimpernel had never been afraid of anything, he placed his life in peril for others every day, always knowing the risks, but now, he was afraid of one thing……loosing Marguerite.

To Be Continued…….

Next chapter will tell what Marguerite has been dreaming about followed by what Chauvelin is up to. Get ready for a whole new twist on Chauvelin and Marguerite's relationship and how this will affect the Scarlet Pimpernel.


	3. Marguerite's Dreams

Thank you to all who have given me feedback! Special thanks to Sarah who has helped me with some of the specifics of the period. Please review! All feedback is greatly appreciated and helps me to write faster! Lol Enjoy!

Marguerite's Dreams

Marguerite bolted up, eyes wide open, but unseeing, she was drenched in a heavy sweat. "Percy, Percy!" She screamed. Was it already too late? Had Chauvelin finally succeeded in destroying the Scarlet Pimpernel, her beloved husband?

She heard Chauvelin laughing, mocking her before two of his guards grabbed her from behind, and immediately bound her arms behind her. She had to get away, she had to get to Percy and warn him. She couldn't bear to loose him now, not after she realized how much she truly loved him! She fought with all her might to get away from the guards, but it was useless. They seemed to have superhuman strength, she couldn't move. She couldn't breathe! It was as if a heavy weight had been placed upon her and she was being consumed into infinite darkness.

She heard Percy calling for her, begging her to come back to him. Did he realize the whole truth now about the Marquis de St. Cyr and his family? Was he ready to forgive her? All of these thoughts kept swirling around and around in her mind causing her to become dizzy. If only she could see into this piercing darkness and find Percy before it was too late. She felt engulfed with panic and fear, surely time would run out!

She felt a blinding surge of pain rip through her body as the soldiers callously jerked her arms back even harder than before forcing her to her knees. She felt as if every bit of her strength and resolve had drained away at that moment. Then the sinister eyes of Chauvelin suddenly appeared before her, his body looming over hers, obviously somewhat amused at her discomfort as his fingers wandered over her terrified face.

She wanted to scream, she wanted to jerk away from his touch, but she could not. The guards had securely gagged her mouth and Marguerite was certain that even if they had not, she would not have had the strength to scream or stir. She closed her eyes trying to calm her nerves and think about what to do!

"You will help me now won't you, Lady Blakeney?" Chauvelin sneered. He ran his hand along her cheek as if it were a lover's caress and then slowly undid the gag. Without waiting for an answer he ran his hand down roughly over her breast and stomach then around to the small of her back Laughing a deep guttural laugh, he maliciously yanked her up to her feet and pulled her tight against him. Grabbing the back of her head, his mouth came down hard on hers. Then there was blackness.

The silence was deafening! Almost as if it were all in slow motion, she watched on in horror as a cart came to a stop in front of the guillotine. She tried to push her way through to the front of the crowd and get a better look, still the silence. Then as if someone had turned on the sound, she could suddenly hear the roar of the crowd.

"Traitor, Traitor!" They cried. She tried to cover her ears and move forward as the angry mob jeered and mocked her. They spit at her, kicked her, and shoved her relentlessly barring her way.

"Feed the traitor and her brother to Madame Guillotine!" Marguerite suddenly froze as she heard these words. There was her beloved brother on his knees waiting to be executed. She closed her eyes, wishing helplessly that it were all a dream

As she once again forced herself to look one last time on the brother she adored, that had once been everything to her; she was startled. It was not Armand's face she looked upon, but the face of the man who owned her heart and soul. "Oh God, no! Please, not Percy!" He stared into her eyes transfixed and then suddenly all went silent except for the sound of the blade. Then there was blackness.

She had just finished another performance and the crowd was cheering, they applauded as they rose to their feet. She was scanning the crowd, trying vainly to see into the balcony, hoping to see that he was there.

"He had to be here, tonight. He said he would be here." She inwardly told herself. The curtain suddenly closed before she could discover him. As the actors waited for the curtain to reopen and make their second bows, Marguerite hastily made her way to her dressing room, disappointment filling her as she walked away not even noticing the curious looks behind her. Some part of her had hoped that he would be waiting for her inside her room, but as she walked in the door, there was no one.

She quickly shut the door and leaned back against it, clearly upset and disappointed. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and tried to pull herself together as the tears began to gather in her eyes. "Oh Percy. Where are you?" She whispered.

No sooner had the words escaped her mouth than she heard a voice that was like music to her soul. "La! I'm right here with you, my love, Wot? Did you think I had forgot our little date?" He lovingly lifted her delicate chin forcing her to look into his eyes.

"Oh Percy!" She cried throwing her arms around his neck. "I was so afraid something had kept you from me!" His arms were exactly where she needed to be.

He picked her up and twirled her around lifting her off of her feet and then drew her in tight against himself. "Margot!" He whispered. Taking her face in his hands, he placed tender kisses to both of her eyelids, then her nose, and then her cheeks. His kisses felt like hot butterflies on her skin. Her eyes closed enjoying how he was making her feel.

Percy pulled back slightly and looked longingly at Marguerite silently begging her to open her eyes. Wondering why he had suddenly stopped, her eyes opened and looked curiously into his. What she saw made her breathing quicken and her heart race. He looked at her with a look that made her melt. It was a look of intense desire, but also one of love and devotion. Then as if by mutual consent, they both leaned in kissing passionately. Marguerite felt his tongue on her lips and she tentatively opened her mouth to him, slowly, seductively. Her pulse began to race at dizzying speed as their contact deepened, she was certain that Percy must be able to hear her heart for it was pounding so loudly. She could not believe the way this man could make her feel. The intensity she had come to love and expect at the feel of his arms around her. Just the thought of him alone would send chills down her spine and a blush to her cheeks

All of a sudden they were both startled by a loud knock at the door. They reluctantly pulled apart, both trying to catch their own breaths and smiling into each other's eyes. Marguerite blushed and looked down as she tried to straighten her clothes.

Immediately her heart stopped and her world suddenly stood still. She was no longer wearing her theatre clothes but her beautiful white wedding dress. Instinctively she knew what that knock meant. She wanted to scream for whoever it was to go away, she wanted to go back into Percy's arms and never leave there again, but instead she watched on as her beloved slowly walked toward the door and opened it.

As Percy turned and looked into her eyes, everything changed in that instant, and she knew that nothing would ever be the same again. Then there was blackness.

Marguerite struggled to wake up, she desperately wanted to open her eyes, but they felt so heavy with sleep. She was not sure what had woken her. Then she heard it again.

"Come back to me, my Margot. I love you! Just open your eyes for me, please, my love!" Percy had whispered these loving words into her ear all night as he cradled her head against his chest. He suddenly noticed a change in her breathing and pulled slightly away to study her beautiful face.

TBC………….


	4. Chauvelin's Rage Part I

Thank you to all who have been faithful in your feedback! It really does help a lot. I am in the middle of writing two different fanfics, but will try to have the second part of "Chauvelin's Rage" finished before the weekend is over. Hope you enjoy and please as always leave me feedback!

Chauvelin's Rage

Part I

The Frenchman's eyes were cold and sinister as he smashed his fist into the table. He was beginning to feel the effects of all the brandy he had so foolishly just consumed. Throwing the empty flask into the fire before him, he staggered backwards and unceremoniously fell into a chair. Since returning home from his meeting with the Committee of Public Safety, he had done nothing but pace back and forth, fuming with rage at having been made a fool of by that accursed Englishman.

Where had his plan gone wrong? How could he have failed to capture France's most hated enemy? When he had stood there before the committee, like an animal with its tail between its legs, he had blamed the entire catastrophe on his secretary, Desgas, knowing full well that the blame did not lie with the man.

Marguerite, he thought to himself. Yes, that is where the blame should fall. A woman who was a traitor to her own country; her own people, and would rather serve those blasted Englishmen than her own. That did not bother the French official nearly as much as her betrayal to him; if he were honest with himself. Chauvelin could not get her screams out of his mind when she had thought her husband to be in such peril.

_He could see her shrieking wildly as she sprang to her feet. He knew then that he had made a most grave mistake by giving her a choice. He had assumed she would do anything to save the life of her precious brother; this theory had always served him well with Marguerite in the past. Instead she ran up to the walls of the hut and began pounding her clenched fists against it in a most unbecoming maniacal frenzy, while she shouted, - - "Armand! Armand! for God's sake fire! your leader is near! he is coming! he is betrayed! Armand! Armand! fire in Heaven's name!"_

_The soldiers quickly seized her and threw her to the ground. She lay there moaning, bruised, not seeming to care, but still half-sobbing, half-shreiking,-- "Percy, my husband, for God's sake fly! Armand! Armand! why don't you fire?"_

"Damn you, Marguerite!" He spoke into the quiet. He could sit in the chair no longer, in a fit of rage he pulled himself to his feet and began throwing objects in every direction letting them smash and fall to pieces wherever they chose to land. He was like a fiend with only vengeance on his mind for what he believed was once his and only his. He pulled out a book of plays that had once belonged to Marguerite. It had been very precious to her because it had once belonged to her mother. One day while Marguerite was on the stage at the Comedie Francaise, he had waited in her dressing room, hoping to speak with her about this ridiculous rumor of her entertaining an Englishman. Something in the Frenchman that day made him wonder about Marguerite for the very first time since he had met her. When he saw the book lying open ever so careful on Marguerite's favorite chair, he simply took it, not knowing at the time why he would do such a thing. He remembered later on the tears she cried as she searched and searched for that lost book.

"Damn you, damn you, damn you!" He shouted as he tossed the book into the fire with as much force as he could manage. He threw it so hard that he lost his balance and fell, hitting his head so hard against the table that it rendered him unconscious as the blood began to seep from his wound.

As the Frenchman succumbed to the darkness that swiftly enveloped him, his mind began to dream of only one person, Marguerite St. Just.

The first time he had ever laid eyes on her seemed so long ago now, almost as if it had all been a dream. She had been on a stage in this two bit broken down tavern, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was incredible. The keeper of this tavern had no idea what she was capable of; but he realized it right away. She performed and the people of this tavern clapped their hands for her but had no knowledge of her abilities as an actress. To these poor French simpletons, she was merely entertainment and easy on the eye to behold. He watched as the play ended and she came out to have a seat. The men vainly trying to seduce her while the women ridiculed her. He had wondered how she would respond and if she would accept his chivalry in her defense. To his dismay, she stood up for herself, she spoke with a competency well above her years, with a wild untamed fire in her eyes her words silenced the lips of all those around her leaving them in a state of awe at what they had witnessed.

It was then that Chauvelin knew this woman had it within her to be the greatest actress of her era. He began spending every free moment with her, teaching her, molding her into being what he knew she could one day become. He was a playwright who knew talent when he spotted it, with Marguerite by his side, everything in the world felt right. The only thing that could make it better would be the rise of the Republic and the fall of the French Aristocracy.

Soon Marguerite no longer came to perform plays in the little tavern, but was performing in France's most prestigious theatre to have ever been built. She seemed to thrive in this theatre and was soon called to perform for the Queen herself. She was the most intellectual female Chauvelin had ever known and even he could not keep up with her at times. Most people could not hold a candle to the beautiful Marguerite St. Just. The two of them often had talks about politics and some things that were so wrong with the aristocracy. It wasn't long before Chauvelin helped Marguerite to open her first salon. Like bees to honey they swarmed around her hanging on her every word. Her salon became the most sought after salon in France and soon they were calling her "The cleverest woman in Europe".


	5. Chauvelin's Rage Part II

Just to let everyone know, this chapter will be broken down into several parts. I will try and get the third part written and updated just as soon as I can. Again thanks for all of your feedback. It is so appreciated and really does help when I'm choosing which fanfic to work on. Enjoy!

.Chauvelin's Rage

Part II

Chauvelin could see her face the day he told her that he no longer wished to be a mere playwright but an Official of the Committee of Public Safety. By this time the French Revolution was in full swing and he so longed for a seat on that committee. Marguerite was in such high spirits after hosting one of the most profound meetings her salon had ever known. You see, Marguerite St. Just, was no ordinary woman, but a fascinating star who astounded all of France, even republican, revolutionary bloodthirsty Paris with her beauty, talent, intellect, and wit. Still a very young woman with only her devoted brother to chaperone her, she soon had an exclusive brilliant following that seemed to hang on her every word. She was the envy of all of France, yet the only credit she took was that of her talent. She used to often say, "Money and titles may be hereditary, but brains are not!" Her motto was equality of birth!

Marguerite had seemed so genuinely happy for him that evening in the wee hours of the morning as he was her last guest to leave and he turned around and told her of his decision. She seemed so pleased that he would give up his dream to be a part of an even greater dream for their beloved France. He felt as if he were on a high from the look of adoration in her eyes that he twirled her around and kissed her firmly on the lips. He had dared never do such a thing before.

"My little Chauvelin, what are you doing?" She gasped as she pulled away from his kiss and his embrace.

"Marguerite, my dear, I love you and I know that you love me too." He replied puzzled. "Why do you pull away from me?" He stepped toward her.

She suddenly spun around, trying to think of what to say. Armand had been right all along. Chauvelin was not just interested in her for her talent and friendship, but he was in love with her. "Chauvelin", she muttered nervously while wringing her hands tightly together.

He came up behind her and slowly turned her around to look into her face. "Marguerite", he questioned. "What is it?" There was now a forced smile upon his lips.

"Chauvelin, I do not know how to tell you this. I…I am very fond of you, but I do not love you." She stammered barely above a whisper. "I…I thought we were friends, very good friends." She tried to read his expression, but it was if a mask had suddenly fallen before his face, hiding him from her view. Never, had she not known what to say, but for the first time in her life, she was at a loss for words.

If only Armand were home right now, she thought to herself. Chauvelin just stood there for a moment as if trying to fully comprehend what she had just said. "Chauvelin, I am so sorry." Marguerite uttered sincerely.

As if awakening from a trance like state, he suddenly took her into his arms and held her tightly against himself. "I do not believe you, Marguerite. I know you love me and soon I will make you see it too!" He whispered harshly into her ear.

For the first time, he noticed the look of fear that had crept into Marguerite's face. He had never seen that look before, but right now he did not care. Marguerite was his and he was not about to loose her.

She tried to pull away again, but he held her tight. "You will not get away from me, Marguerite. You will not!" His lips then came down hard again on hers almost causing her to loose her breath. She struggled against him, but the more she struggled the tighter his embrace became almost crushing her to him. His lips then left hers and began traveling down her neck.

Struggling to catch her breath, she began to sob. "Chauvelin, please don't do this, just go."

At that moment they heard the door begin to open and Chauvelin let her go. She stepped back as far as she could crossing her arms in front of her chest hoping to step out of the light so her brother would not see her tears. She was rather a private person and did not wish to burden her brother with this, but would find a way on her own to handle it.

As Chauvelin gathered his things and said a quick goodbye to Armand, he spoke over his shoulder to Marguerite. "We will discuss this matter again at another time." Then he was gone.

Armand rather tired took no notice of the tears in Marguerite's eyes or the trembling of her body as he half heartily asked about the discussion of her salon that evening. It was not that he did not care or that he was not interested, but he was exhausted and had yet to fully recover from the thrashing sustained by the Marquis for being in love with his daughter. Armand was currently all wrapped up in his own troubles, in his own little world.

TBC……..


	6. Chauvelin's Rage Part III

I just wanted to say thanks to all of you who have left feedback for me. I am currently working on three separate stories, only one of them being a Scarlet Pimpernel fanfiction. So if you enjoy this story and would like to see more of it written and posted sooner, then please let me know what you think of it because with so little time to write, I am usually working on whichever story is receiving the greatest response. Again, Thanks to all of you who have been faithful in reading this story and leaving feedback, it is GREATLY appreciated!

Chauvelin's Rage Part III

Armand Chauvelin continued to dream as he was passed out from his drunken stupor and his own maniacal rage. He dreamed of the following day after she had dared to tell him that she did not return his love after all that he had done for her.

He waited in the shadows of her dressing room after her performance so he could calmly make her see that their quarrel from the night before was just a huge misunderstanding. He would simply tell her how much he loved and worshipped her and she would see that it was he that she really loved and not that English fop, Sir Percy Blakeney. After all, even the most cleverest woman in Europe was allowed to have a momentary lapse in judgment, she would see that they were made for each other and together side by side they would lead France in the greatest revolutionary movement this world would ever see.

Marguerite entered her dressing room exhausted as she shut the door behind her and lent heavily against it. She had not slept at all the night before trying to figure out a way to handle Chauvelin the next time she saw him; and still she had not come up with anything, but grateful that throughout the entire day she had not laid eyes on the man. Tears suddenly sprang to her eyes as she allowed herself to think about the night before and what had almost happened if Armand had not come home when he did.

The black clad figure stood there watching her from the shadows about to make his presence known, when a seemingly playful knock abruptly startled Marguerite and then as if realization of who was behind that knock suddenly dawned on the young actress, her face lit up with a knowing smile that Chauvelin had never seen before in all of the time he had spent with her. A sense of impeding dread rose up from deep inside of him as he too realized who was behind that knock.

She was in his arms before the Englishman could utter one word; the doors thrown carelessly open in her haste to see him. "Percy, Percy, Percy!" She cried aloud in sheer delight.

Sir Percy Blakeney responded by lifting Marguerite off of her feet and spinning her around; joy and amusement playing over the Englishman's features. "Well, my dear, I am so happy that you are so glad to see me!" He gently lowered her back to the ground, still holding her securely to himself as he lowered his mouth to hers, taking her lips in a deep sensual kiss.

She responded in kind, matching his enthusiasm, both lovers only stopping when forced to catch their breaths. "Oh Percy!" She spoke his name in a loving whisper, whilst laying her head against his chest, enjoying the feel of his strong arms around her. "I have missed you so much!"

Percy felt as if he could float away on pure happiness at hearing what his love had just spoken. Chauvelin on the other hand was seething with pure hatred at the audacity of this idiot who had managed to worm his way into the heart of the woman who belonged to him. The French official could barely control his rage at what he was witnessing; his Marguerite in the arms of another man.

The Englishman, being the astute adventurer that he was, even in the mist of pure bliss, suddenly felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he noticed a chill coming from out of the shadowy corners of the room. Taking his beloved's face into his hands, he looked into her eyes and was astonished to see a few tears fall down her lovely porcelain cheeks.

"Margot, my love?" He whispered gently, wiping away her tears with his thumbs. "Tell me why the tears."

She quickly dropped her eyes to the floor, not wanting him to see her pain. She wasn't sure what to tell Percy about Chauvelin or what he would think of her if she did tell him everything.

Percy loved her so much and could tell she was struggling as every emotion passed across her beautiful face. She was nervous about telling him something as she bit her bottom lip still debating about how much to share with him about the night before.

"Marguerite" He lifted her chin forcing her eyes to meet his so she could see his love and sincerity when he spoke. "I would give anything….everything I have, everything I am so as not one more tear should ever have to fall from those beautiful enchanting eyes of yours, nor your heart ever know again what it is like to feel one ounce of pain or sadness.

It was then that Chauvelin vowed to himself that he would do everything in his power to see that the Englishman's declaration of love would be forever broken to Marguerite St. Just. He would never rest again until he came up with the perfect plan to destroy them both.

TBC………..


End file.
